Remembering
by Aria777
Summary: A girl is trapped on a stretch of sand that goes on forever. She must conquer her fears. Can a young boy save her? Or will she be able to save herself? And who is this mysterious girl? One shot. Story is better than summary.


_**Remembering**_

The golden stretch of sand circled the earth, creating a barrier that formed an oval-like shape. If one was to walk on this stretch of sand, they might find themselves in a rut, forever circling, for the sand had no end.

On the stretch of sand, a figure marches at a methodical pace. Her boots move without thought, crunching and mashing and sliding through and into the soft earth as if it had no feelings. There is a faint noise; it is not the pounding of the waves, nor the tapping of sand by her feet, rather, a small fly buzzing next to her ear drums.

On her left are boulders: sharp, jagged, and fearless, ready to target and kill any who are brave enough to challenge. They rise to the sky, and descend past the earth. There is no way around them.

To the right is water. The water is absolute; it is bottomless. It is ready to swallow its food faster than a beast can swallow its prey. She avoids the water.

The faint buzzing turns into a beat.

Every time she tries to remember, the wind picks up her dress and carries it forward, and she has no choice but to follow. So she keeps parading down the sand like she is a Queen who waits for her commoners.

She needs no King; there is no need for a shining-knight or a brave soldier or a young boy.

If only I can rest, she thinks. Then I could remember.

Remember what? She asks herself. She does not remember.

The wind keeps pushing. The boots keep moving. She does not stop. She cannot stop.

Her rut is momentarily interrupted. She sees a stick, indiscreetly placed on the sand, dry as a bone, but also jagged and rough on the edges. The stick declares, "Choose me", but the girl's hesitance betrays her. What if I am to get a splinter? She wavers.

So she moves on.

Time draws to a new beginning. The warmth of the air and her methodical walk is intruded by a new force. It is replaced by a cold, bitter air. It is replaced by an eclipse. It is replaced by darkness.

The beat turns into pounding.

She is no longer in a trance; instead she is terrified of the shadows, terrified of the murkiness of this eclipse, of this darkness. Her worst fears have come alive.

And as she thinks of these fears, the pounding grows louder and louder, until all she can hear is the drums of the blackness. As she thinks of these fears, her memory is slowly revived until she is consumed.

She feels happiness. She feels compassion. She feels playfulness. She feels young. She's a mother to those without.

She sees herself.

But then she watches as it strips away, piece by piece, board by board, tree by tree. It had been a dream, she tells herself, only a dream. _It wasn't real, it wasn't real_! she screams.

_Go away_! She screams to the drums. Their tempo speeds, and so does she. Their tempo speeds, and she runs, in vain. She trips, stumbling towards more darkness. She can no longer feel her boots or the caressing wind; no longer feel her white dress. Yes, it _is _white, she says aloud… white as a cloud. But she feels nothing. She does not want to feel. All she _feels_ and _tastes_ and _smells_ and _hears _is the _thump thump thump _of pounding drums.

And suddenly, the eclipse is gone, and light illuminates her. She finds herself on a golden stretch of sand, reaching into forever.

She does not remember.

A new rut begins, and she has no worries, no memories of the past night. The drums are gone.

Her boots begin to move without her command. The wind pushes her along, encouraging her forward. But something is different.

She remembers something.

Her dress is white. White as a cloud, perfect as an orchard; simple but pure. The dress has done many things. It has run. It has fought.

It has patiently sat as its host told stories of places abroad and villains and heroes and knights in shining armor and brave soldiers and young boys.

_No, _she says slowly realizing something.

Young _boy._

And then, for the first time in a long time, she asks to no one in particular, "Where am I?" The question does not float away like her other thoughts, but stands beside her, pushing her to dig deeper

For the first time, she looks.

There is the ocean, she says. There are the waves, and the rocks, and the seaweed. It is not a monster, it is not an abyss; it's the _ocean. _And over there! She points excitedly to the monstrous boulders. They were not a giant, just an obstacle. Higher and higher her eyes search the skyscraper until…

_An opening!_

It was small, but she knew she could fit between the space in the rock. She has to try.

Then she remembers a second thing. She racks her brains attempting to grasp the thought before she forgets completely, and as she finds it, she looks to the sand…

_And there was the stick._

Like a child, she grabs at the stick greedily and begins playing. She waves the stick in the air, pretending it was a wand; the stick sometimes moved on its own accord, and began drawing figures and names and words in the sand. And as she plays, the jagged and rough stick slowly became smooth and straight; as it did so, it expanded, and she imagines it was a sword and she was a pirate.

_Swing! Jab! Slice! _The wooden sword slashed through the air, fighting an invisible opponent. She felt power holding the weapon, and she imagined each time she fought her opponent, she would win.

_Swing!_ _She playfully fought her brother's, laughing as she did so…_

_Jab!_ _She stabbed her father, for all the times he had scolded her…_

_Slice! She sliced off a Hook, which had once rested in the place of a hand…_

Suddenly, a figure stands before her. His hair was made of black, curly shadows; his coat, a crimson red with golden buttons hanging down the middle; and next to the figure, a hook buried halfway in the sand…

She runs.

She forgets about play-fighting with her brother's, and the hatred of her cruel father. All she remembers at that moment was that she must get away from the Man with the Hook.

She does not realize she had begun to ascend the once-fearful boulders until she touches the bumpy rock. She climbs, for her life depends on it. She cannot rest, because each moment she does the Man with the Hook would only be closer to his revenge.

I must get into a rut again, she thinks, if not, I won't be fast enough. So instead of thinking about _moving her boots_, she lets her boots _move her. _And suddenly it became easier to climb. Instead of lifting her weight up, she let the wind carry her white dress that should have been soiled and smelly, but instead had stayed pure.

With one last lunge, she makes it to the top. She senses the enemy is gone. It has been defeated. She does not look back to the golden beach with the stretch of sand. It is the one thing she wants to forget.

She looks onward. There is a labyrinth of palms and vines and bush and moss. Her legs move on their own accord. For a while she does not know where they take her, but she does know this place is familiar. It was like she stepped into a dream.

And then the labyrinth was no more, and instead there was color: gold and yellow and pink and purple and blue and green. Her eyes adjusted to the dream, and she realized it wasn't a dream at all.

Little objects made of gold and yellow danced together in midair… _fairies. _There was no music, but she began to hum. She wishes to dance right alongside them, if only she had a partner.

Purple and pink and blue flowers grew from massive tree trunks, surrounding the little meadow of fairies. White flowers covered the floor, reminding the girl of her white dress.

The dance slowed, until the fairies parted, as if creating a path for her. But then a figure came out of the vines and into the meadow. It was a boy.

When he saw her, their eyes locked. But he broke contact; he crouched on the ground, arms covering his face, and began to sob.

This distressed her. She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. Slowly, she waltzed to the boy, passing fairies as she went. They followed her, magnetized.

She crouched next to the boy. "Boy… why are you crying?" the question oozed out like honey, and as she said the words, she knew she was repeating them from another lifetime.

When he did not look up, the girl reached her hand and touched his.

A spark ignited the girl and the boy.

They gasped at the same moment. He looked to her carefully, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. "I'm crying because you were lost. But you came back…" His words ended in whisper, as if he could not believe he was uttering them. "You found you're way home."

"I was lost, but I came back…" she repeated. "I'm _home._"

And as she said those words, she knew them to be true.

And she _remembered._

He gave her a smile, and she smiled back.

"Would you like to dance?" the boy named Peter asked, holding out his empty hands.

And the girl named Wendy replied, with a curtsey, "I would love to."


End file.
